


The Parched Tendrils

by Pi (Rhea)



Category: Mushishi
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-17
Updated: 2019-12-17
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:13:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21828019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rhea/pseuds/Pi
Summary: Ginko travels to a place missing rain.
Comments: 8
Kudos: 43
Collections: Yuletide 2019





	The Parched Tendrils

**Author's Note:**

  * For [samsnow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/samsnow/gifts).



_Once a town lay between the foot of a great mountain range and the edge of the sea. The people spent their days harvesting the long draperies of soft green moss that hung from every tree to create the most beautiful cloth. Traveling merchants prized the beautiful cloth created by artisans of the village, most of them arriving in summer when the ever-present rain would be just a bit less. Most travelers agreed the town was beautiful, nestled in so much lush green. But that was before our story starts._

“Mushi-Shi, wait!” A cheerful voice calls from behind Ginko. With a sigh Ginko pauses, hefting his backpack a little more firmly onto his shoulder and wincing at the shift of weight. He turns to find Koharu, the same young woman he’d spoken with earlier, running to catch up with him. 

“You’re headed over the mountain pass, aren't you?” she asks. Ginko looks back out to the road where it winds upward out of the village. The snow, grey-black with foot traffic, shows a clear path at first before slowly disappearing into consistent white. Colored scraps of fabric supposedly mark the course further on. 

“We’re just packing up, wouldn’t it be better to have a whole party go together?” She gestures back towards the other merchants and the horse drawn cart. “We’d be happy for you to join us, Ginko; it’s easier to sleep with more eyes around the fire to trade watch, isn’t it?” Her genuinely upbeat manner masks some of her concern, but Ginko suspects the slight limp to his walk may have prompted her invitation.

Ginko exhales another drag of smoke, ruffling a few Mushi out of the air so they fall like snow to the ground off the path. “Alright,” he agrees. He won’t be able to outpace them if they’re leaving now. The horses will be slower in the snow, but he isn’t exactly moving his fastest. 

“Wonderful! And please, you’ll be helping us too, let us carry your pack for you. There’s space in the cart.” She smiles hopefully, her cheeks and nose bright with cold as she holds out mittened hands as if reaching to take it off his shoulders herself. Ginko frowns and tests his foot again. It’s just sore, but the idea of walking without the excess weight is tempting. After a moment he nods.

“If anyone opens it I’ll know.” It comes out perhaps a bit more sharply than Ginko intends, but Ginko’s had a scenario like this go badly before. If this town had just had a cobbler...but there’s no use being wistful for impossibilities. It was awkward enough asking if anyone knew someone who might be able to work on his boots. Ginko has already spent a few extra days here resting his feet and soothing any offense raised by his search for a cobbler. Even if he hasn’t overstayed his welcome with the people here, the mushi clustering once more in the boughs lining the path are sign enough that it’s time to move on. 

The air grows colder as they travel up out of the village. The horses plod forward. The cart jostles and jerks, but the ruts of travelers before them create enough of a path to keep the cart from being bogged down. One of the other merchants, a short man named Hisao who leads the way with a sharp eye on the tree line, occasionally steps just enough off the path to catch untried snow drifts and plunges down into the snow up to his chest. The summer sun is bright overhead. Ginko’s broad straw hat does some good, though not for the reflection off the snow. 

When they stop for the night Ginko is leery to take off his boots. It’s going to be worse to put them back on after removal, he’s sure. When he gets to the next village he’ll make sure to really soak his foot, and apply more ointment. Hopefully someone there will have something he can wear instead. Or something he can use for repairs. If he stays in the lowlands perhaps he can even go barefoot for a time. That couldn’t be as bad as this. 

“Are you alright?” Hisao sits down next to Ginko with his evening meal. 

“My feet,” Ginko grimaces. “I’ll be fine.” 

The man frowns sympathetically. “You’re a Mushi-shi, Ginko?” he asks. 

“Yes.” 

“That’s those little twirly bits? I read about that once. They like, make it look like it’s raining when it isn’t, or make food taste a bit like flowers even when it’s meat.”

“Some do,” Ginko agrees. “There are many kinds of mushi, but some of them do those things.”

“I have this patch of hair that’s all white,” the man turns his head gesturing at it, “been that way since I was a kid. Can you look at it? Do you think a mushi did it?” 

Ginko lets a beat pass, letting his gaze flick over what is a patch of white hair. “I think that happens to some people, but not because of any mushi.” 

“Oh.” The man’s face and shoulders both sag a little in obvious disappointment. He takes another bite and after chewing for a few moments he perks back up. “Well, you know, I have a friend back home and she –”

Ginko lets the story of several different acquaintances and a disappearing box of onigiri roll over him. He gives it enough attention to be sure to nod in the right places and catch the gist of the wandering story, but mostly lets his mind wander, reaching for the deep susurration of the river of light slowly moving beneath them. 

“Yes, I suppose that there is a possibility it was a mushi,” Ginko says eventually when the story has been fully told. Ginko wasn’t present at the incident described so he can’t be sure, but he suspects it was not in fact a mushi. Hisao seems thoroughly pleased.

Ginko is markedly limping as they come down into the lush green forest. Upon reflection it’s lucky he had the fortune to travel with the merchants and their cart to carry his pack. His foot certainly wouldn’t be thanking him for any added stress. High on the slope everything is green and lush. The root-knotted path requires careful footing so Ginko keeps his eyes trained downward. He misses at first when the forest begins to change. 

By the time they reach where the forest thins and they break out onto the hillside Ginko knows something is wrong. The quiet houses march down the hill to a wide flat area, then a few more follow a trailing path to the tall dull dune grass that marks the edge of the beach. 

“It’s so dead,” Koharu says, speaking the thoughts most of them must have been having. Her voice is thick with confusion as she turns to Ginko. “It isn’t supposed to be like that.” 

Ginko looks from the town before them to the forest behind them. From this angle it’s harder to discern, but there is a distinct difference in the quality of the forest further up the mountains. At first they came down through a wash of green, through clouds caught among the trees highest up the slopes where moss hung thickly and the soft, sporadic patter of water dripping down from leaf to leaf was a comforting backdrop of sound. But down here, and seemingly everywhere nearby, the forest has turned brown. The moss is gone or dead dry; the leaves are there, but withered crisps rather than glossy with full summer. Ginko squints up at the sky, but it’s too bright to make out anything against the intense blue and the beating sun. 

The mood in the village is as morose as the dry moss. There is no bustle of work or silken glitter of fabric drying in the sun. A woman and her older children sit idle in the doorway of a building, fanning themselves and watching the travelers approach. When close enough she raises one hand in welcome. 

“You’re too late,” she calls. “The last of the cloth has already been sold.”

The boy beside her frowns at her before adding, “But we’ll have more, it will just take longer because,” he gestures indicatively towards the brown swath of trees running up the mountain. The merchants look between themselves and exchange a few quiet words.

Finally Koharu asks, “How long.”

“A few days,” the woman’s tone is not encouraging. 

“But you’re the only merchants here, so you’ll be first for whatever we make!” The boy is pointedly cheerful. “They can stay with us, can’t they?”

The woman sighs and stands. “Welcome, we do have a few extra beds. I’m Kei, one of the town’s best craftswomen, when I have materials to work with.” She turns to her children.

“Kouta,” the boy introduces himself.

“Mio,” says his younger sister. 

The merchants introduce themselves in turn: Koharu, then Hisao, and then a third, who’s never spoken to Ginko but looks like an elongated version of Koharu, introduces himself as Tetsu. With those greetings made the merchants and the villagers turn expectantly to Ginko.

“Ah, I’m a Mushi-Shi, just traveling through in the same direction these merchants. Ginko.”

“A Mushi-Shi?” Kei’s eyes grow sharp. “Maybe you can help us, then.”

Kei leads Ginko to large building. The ceiling arches higher than any other Ginko has encountered and from it hang long pieces of wood creating an effect almost like a forest inside. Between the pillars, smaller pieces of wood are set, creating frames of empty shapes. Almost all the frames are empty, save for one in the very back where two men are working. 

As Ginko watches they take chunks of the rich green moss. With fibers draping through their fingers they plunge their hands down into a vat of some faintly steaming liquid that sits between them. Then, each plucks the dripping edges of the moss chunk they hold with efficient practiced motions, until wisps stretch out such that they can be looped over specific points on the hanging wooden columns. With each side secured they stretch the material, first back away from the frame, and then towards each other. The two craftsmen pass on opposite sides of the frame. The moss pulls into long fibers as it’s stretched. Its glistening green smoothes out into an even shine. Ginko watches as a similar plucking action is repeated to secure to the material to the opposite side, as each is lined up to where the other began. Their material appropriately secured, each man steps away. They wait for the span of a breath, then both step forward at the same time. Their hands meet, pressed together with the thin surface of stretched moss between them. They begin a set of rhythmic sweeping, hands always in perfect alignment until they’ve moved fully to the other side. Then they step away with a sense of finality like the end of a dance performance.

“It will have to dry for a day,” Kei explains, “so it can complete knitting together. Then they’ll cut the ends and lay the cloth flat in the heat room for another day to set it. When that’s done, it will be ready to sell. Normally this room is full of fabric, but right now, there simply isn’t enough moss to go around without stripping what remains of the forest bare.”

“Has anyone suggested doing that?” Ginko asks.

“Certainly not!” Kei shakes her head vehemently, “At least no one in the village. We know these woods; stripping them clean would mean no cloth in the future. It’s better to have just a little than none at all. But why it’s all gone dry – that’s a question for the mushi master, isn’t it?” Kei asks, her eyes shrewdly watching Ginko.

“May I inspect the cloth?” Ginko asks.

“As long as you don’t touch it,” Kei cautions and Ginko nods assurance. Up close it’s even more obvious than from far away. The lush green of the moss has turned a softer sheen as the moss was stretched, but the fibrous tendrils are still there. They wriggle slowly as Ginko watches, twining and winding through each other, creating a dense, thin mat. 

“What do you dip them in?” Ginko asks the man nearest him. The man frowns and looks to Kei.

“You can answer him, Sero. He’s a mushi master.” 

“It’s salt water, from the sea here, and powdered rock from the mineral veins in the bluffs just west of here.”

Ginko crouches down and runs his fingers through the tub of water, stirring up the cloudy sediment there. The grit slips smoothly between his fingers. “Interesting.” Ginko looks back to the cloth, which is now moving only subtly, with ripples of contraction and expansion flowing across the whole surface almost like the rise and fall of a breathing chest. “How long has the town made cloth this way?”

“Since as far back as anyone can remember.” Kei comes to stand beside him. “My grandfather taught my mother who taught me. The patterns can be a bit different from family to family – how to do the stretching, the patterns to move through in the sealing step. It makes the cloth a little different from craftsperson to craftsperson. Mostly we all work in teams like Sero and Yuto,” she gestures to the two men, “But, some do individual work, for making small fine pieces.” 

“How long has it been without rain?”

“Seasons.” The faces of the villagers are disheartened. Any passion brought about by sharing the beauty of the cloth dries up in the face of the moistureless air. They walk together back out into the sunshine.

“Has it always been this cloudless?” Ginko gestures to encompass the sky and bright sun.

“Oh no,” Sero says. “It’s usually grey here. Today is a rare day.”

“But even when it’s grey, there’s no rain?” Ginko prods, feeling out the edges of an idea. Sero nods. “Did anything happen before the moss started drying?”

“Nothing really,” Sero says.

“No, there was that wind storm,” Yuto objects, “that’s when it stopped raining.”

“Not a drop since then,” Kei confirms. “I almost like days like this better because then it seems like it’s not because of us.”

“Why do you think it’s because of you?” Ginko asks.

“Well, because we didn’t make her leave soon enough. We’ve heard about them here, Mushi that kill crops. We think she started growing them, to get back at the village. Another merchant band told us about it. It’s happened before elsewhere, we’re just unlucky enough that she must have figured out how to release them here.” Kei glares out into the woods behind the town. Dry leaves rustle in the light breeze and she turns abruptly on her heel, away from the woods. “So that’s why we need you, mushi master. You can remove the blight that’s destroying the moss.”

Ginko purses his lips. So far he’s seen no sign of any sort of mushi that might actively kill crops. There are the regular collection of mushi floating by on their wandering path, and the smattering of insubstantial remains of the mushi that like to collect in cisterns and mimic long legged insects that skitter over water in little drifts by the bases of the rain barrels that crouch next to the homes he’s passed, and of course there’s the moss itself, the cloth created by these villagers.

“I’ll be sure to look carefully,” Ginko promises, “but maybe you could tell me more about this person you think has… released a mushi?”

Kei shakes her head and Sero drops his eyes to the ground. “If I speak more of her, it’d be bad luck. But you can go up the east hill out of the village. You’ll see all you need to see to know the truth.” 

Ginko leaves the village alone. Koharu and the merchants are settling in with Kei and helping preparations for an evening meal. Ginko takes the chance to leave on his own, following the eastward direction Kei had pointed. There is a path there, moving upward through the foothills. The forest around is dry and dead, absent the rustlings of small creatures and the susurration of mushi voices. 

At the end of the path Ginko finds a house, with its door slid partway closed. The house is dark and the woods growing darker as the sun slides down. Ginko knocks loudly twice before entering. In the dim interior, he can just make out a shape crumpled on the floor before a burnt-out fire. 

The girl’s eyes are closed, her face seeming not much younger than Koharu’s. Her lips are cracked and dry, skin flaking off her nose and small fissures along the skin of her fingers where they curl by her face. Ginko leans closer to listen for breathing, but startles back when a long tendril swirls out of the split of her lip to coalesce and absorb the moisture from his breath. As one, tendrils rise from her arms, legs, and face, pushing up through clothing to reach slowly towards Ginko. Ginko backs away. He narrowly avoids stumbling on an empty bucket. Keeping one eye on the straining, stretching tendrils, he grabs the rough wood. It’s only a few more minutes to draw up a bucketful from the well. Ginko returns as fast as he dares, not spilling a drop and hoping that he isn’t too late. 

She’s where he left her, and all the tendrils reach towards the door as if sensing his arrival. Ginko grimaces. Perhaps the amount in the bucket will be enough to let him carry her to the well if he’s quick. Ginko edges forward, keeping the bucket in front of him. Once he’s almost within the tendrils' reach he sloshes the water out over her. The tendrils retract almost immediately as she spasms and coughs. In two quick steps, Ginko scoops her up.

“Try not to move,” he warns before running from the house. 

Her eyes have slitted open and she’s scrabbling one hand at the front of his shirt, mouthing soundless protests or warnings by the time he reaches the well. Ginko doesn’t pause to decipher them. He races to the well and heaves her in. It shallow enough that the splash is near instant, but the displacement she makes is too light for her size. That’s unsurprising given the circumstances. A second later her voice becomes audible.

“Whoever you are, please stay back.” 

Ginko lights a cigarette and takes a calming drag. After a few good puffs of smoke he walks cautiously to the wall of the well to peer down. “How do you feel?” Ginko asks. She bobs below him, mostly in shadow from the low angle of the sun.

“Better, but it’s probably still not smart for you to be here. I can get back up on my own. I don’t know who you are, but thank you.” 

“I’m a Mushi-Shi,” Ginko watches her flinch. “I’ll be fine if you come back up. Are you sure you don’t need a hand?” He extends his own down towards her. She stares at him for a long beat, but then reaches up and wraps her fingers firmly around his own. Her skin is already dry. 

“Hiromi,” she introduces herself when they’re back in her house. She looks from the black charred wood of the cold hearth back to him. “It’s probably safer if I don’t start the fire. I think maybe that made this worse.” She shakes a hand delicately. Tendrils are slowly wafting up off her hair, tasting the air over her head. They weave like snakes but bob away from the smoke Ginko swirls towards them. They’re shorter now at least. 

“What happened?” Ginko asks. 

“Well, I was trying,” she grimaces, “to need less. There isn’t much water around anymore. It’s fine when it rains all the time, but since that stopped.” She sighs and slouches backwards, staring up at the ceiling. “Normally I’d soak in the well, and then work outdoors all day. With the drizzle that’s always been enough. But now, I can’t even work. The moss is too dry; when I touch it, it just crumbles into dust. There’s not enough new green moss to go around. The village obviously won't give any to me. And of course, since they started telling merchants that it’s all gone because of our curse, they don’t even want to buy from me anymore.” Her voice breaks and wobbles but her tears are instantly absorbed by her cheeks. She dashes away the little moisture at the corners of her eyes angrily. “They killed her!” She glares up at him, anger buoying her forward. “She was already sick and then it stopped raining. They said it was her fault. No one would help us, they wouldn’t give us anything, they wouldn’t even sell to me. I couldn’t take care of her and sell enough to get rice from the merchants who would still talk to me. I just dry up plants when we try to garden. I couldn’t protect her and she died.” She buries her face in her knees and her shoulders shake.

Ginko waits while her breathing slowly steadies. “Has your family always been like this, able to absorb water?”

Hiromi nods, unfurling a palm so the fine tendrils wave just above it. “We have. That’s why we live here, where it always rains. The other villagers, they never liked us, I think. But though we were apart, up here, we’ve always been one of them. They make cloth and we make, well, like your shoes.” She points at the cracked brown leather of Ginko’s boots. “That’s even more rare than the cloth, so we always made more profit than the rest of the village, but we gave back. We’d buy rice for the festivals, we’d dry the wood for the bonfires. Maybe we were different, but what we do is important!” Her vehemence fades as she frowns down at her hands. “Or it was. Now that it doesn’t rain we’re useless.” 

“Do you remember what happened when the rain stopped?” Ginko asks.

“Well, there was a real downpour, not our regular rain but a real deluge, followed by a big wind storm. It blew down one of the tallest cloth making houses in the village. If you look to the far west in town you can see where it was. That’s where they made the largest skeins of cloth. I don’t think I’d ever seen that much wind. And it came down from the mountain rather than in from the sea, though I suppose that’s not too unusual.”

“Do you remember which way the wind came.” 

“Maybe? From behind the house.” Hiromi looks towards the back of the house, as if seeing the mountain beyond the walls. “There were trees that came down. They can show the path of the wind, I think. And part of the mountainside not far from here came down all together because the ground was so wet the wind pushed it off the foothill.”

“Do you think you can show me tomorrow?” Ginko asks.

Hiromi looks at her hands again, prodding gently where the cracks used to be. “I think so. I’ll need to soak in the well again for you to be safe, but I can’t go down into the village. When you come by tomorrow, if the door is open, it’s okay for you to be here.” 

Ginko doesn’t go back to Kei’s house. He finds Hisao tending the horses by the cart and the man agrees with a puzzled expression to let Ginko sleep the night in the bottom of the cart.  
“I have to leave early to look into why there isn’t any rain. I wouldn’t want to disturb Kei when she’s already so graciously given you her hospitality.” It seems to be a good enough answer and Hisao leaves Ginko alone for the night. 

The door is open and Hiromi is waiting for Ginko in the morning. She has a pair of boots almost like his own on her feet, and a pair of gloves of the same tough, dark material held in one hand.  
“They’ll keep me from absorbing if I don’t want to when I touch something,” she explains.

“May I see them?” Ginko asks.

She carefully drops a glove into his hands. The fabric is more supple than the leather Ginko has come across, the color a richer brown. It has a sheen almost like the green cloth but closer to the gloss of oil than the shimmer of silk or sparkle of dew. The material is thicker than the green cloth, warmer too, but the mushi are still there, seeming frayed instead of simply stretched like the cloth.

“Water can’t get through it any more,” Hiromi explains. “We can’t make as much as the cloth craftsmen, but we use it differently. My mother had a hat her grandfather made. It’s too small for me but my sister used to wear it before she– I still have it if you’d like to see it. I’m best at making shoes, like these.” Hiromi wiggles one foot in front of her.

“Maybe, once we figure out what’s stopping the rain, you can help me repair my boots then.” 

Hiromi looks down at them, then smiles tentatively. “I think I could do that.”

The hike up the mountain takes longer than Ginko’s trip with the merchants coming down from the pass. They follow a deer trail up from Hiromi’s house to where Hiromi can point out the path of downed trees, and beyond it the scraped edge of where an entire swath of earth slid forward along the path of the wind down towards the village.

“They’re lucky it didn’t go that far,” Ginko observes. The sight of all the displaced earth is uncomfortable, but it’s a normal discomfort, not a mushi. Ginko curls his fists in his pockets and seeks out the safest way up the hillside.

“So am I. My sister was out collecting moss that day. We use this area of the woods because it’s so steep going down to the village no one else comes up here. You can’t see it now, but the slide stopped just beyond the edge of what she’d already harvested. If she hadn’t moved a little further down slope it might have gotten her too. She wasn’t well then but she’d insisted she was all right to collect the moss. She’d always been faster than me when she harvested – if I’d been there instead we might both be dead now.”

They carefully skirt the edge of the scarp, following the downed trees, and Ginko breathes evenly and tries not to picture the hands of villagers or Hiromi’s sister reaching out of the rubble of dirt, rock, and trees. This time, things were different, and the ground beneath him is dry and firm.

They stop to eat and Ginko passes the water jug to Hiromi. She objects at first, but gives in when Ginko insists. It’s dry when she returns it. The steepness of their trail brings sweat out on Ginko’s brow, but Hiromi stays dry beside him. Her tendrils grow longer, reaching out to the dry trees and pulling just a little more moisture as they go. The forest grows dry and dull around her as she passes. Ginko watches her notice the effect and the dark, frustrated look that passes over her face before she sets her jaw, ducks her head down, and keeps climbing. 

The sun is once more creeping down to the horizon before they reach their goal.

“I think I should turn back.” Hiromi says nervously. “I don’t want anything to happen to you and I won’t have a well to soak in for the morning.”

Ginko looks up to the grey sheet of clouds above the mountain. The eternal twisting glow beneath them is the only river of light visible. “The villagers said if it was cloudy it was almost always raining, before. Is that right?”

Hiromi nods.

“Let’s keep going, we might find the rain before we stop.”

Hiromi looks dubious, but they continue.

The sun has long disappeared behind the trees and the evening has gone from blue to black by the time Ginko walks through what feels like a waterfall. Beyond the wall of water a light prickle of mist tickles his cheeks. He stops and sags against a tree. His feet are killing him and the darkness has made discerning branches before he runs into them face-first difficult. It’s all worth it to see Hiromi in the half moonlight with her arms held up to the misty sky, her delight almost bright enough to be seen.

“We’ll stay here for tonight, or you will. I’m going to go a few feet back that way so I can sleep where it’s dry. Then in the morning we’ll figure out exactly what to do about this,” Ginko says before heaving himself off the tree and staggering back to dry earth. 

In the morning, the rain clouds still hang full and grey overhead. Where Ginko lays, curled up in his coat, everything is dry. He blinks to clear his eyes of sleep. Hiromi is semi-obscured by streams falling from some invisible roof. Ginko hunches his shoulders and ducks through the water. Beyond, it’s still misting lightly and Hiromi is still sleeping, up the slope. Water glistens on the leaves and grass near her, but there’s a perfectly dry, brown line outlining where her body touches the forest floor, and the tree she’s leaning against is dead-dry. Ginko lights another cigarette before he goes to shake her awake, but he isn’t particularly worried. She rouses easily, unlike the first time he found her. Her skin is whole, her hair is smooth and dry, she looks well rested and almost vibrant under the gentle mist.

“So what do we do?” She yawns.

“Now, we search,” Ginko says. “Somewhere along this edge, we’ll find something.” Ginko looks at the line between rain, runoff, and dry. There is something there, some kind of filmy barrier, but this isn’t quite the right angle for Ginko to figure out exactly what it is.

Their slow, methodical progress continues until mid morning before Ginko finds what they’ve been seeking. An outcropping of rock off the mountain side has several large pieces of rockfall beneath it. They’re far enough downslope that Ginko isn’t sure at first. The line of runoff water curves sharply up towards the boulder. Sitting to lean even closer to the ground, Ginko gets a better view of what they’re dealing with.

“We need to go there.” Ginko points. Picking their way across the scree, they reach the largest fallen blocks. From beneath, a long blue tail emerges, fanning out into the thin, silvery, and then transparent film of a giant mushi, its fins stretching out to the horizon, creating a barrier between the rain above and the dry earth below as it yanks and writhes, trapped by the boulders over its tail, dark and blue and the one part solid enough to be trapped.

“And that’s our problem. Hiromi, do you know how we could move any of those boulders?” Ginko asks.

She purses her lips, carefully looking over the boulders. “Most of the rocks around here, they have water in them. Not much, but my mother used to say, if it gets very dry we could come up to the mountain top if we had to. I’ve never tried, it’s easier with living things. I don’t know if that might help, but I can try?”

Slowly, Hiromi approaches the first boulder. She removes her gloves and tucks them under one arm before stepping close to the rock to lay both of her hands flat against it. There’s no visual change at first, but as Ginko listens a quiet crackling becomes audible. The sound grows in volume and frequency until Hiromi shoves and the whole rock breaks into fragments, showering down in a hail of gravel and small chunks. The giant mushi’s tail jerks and squirms, but it still can’t move.

Hiromi moves to take a step toward the next boulder. “Ah! Wait!” Ginko calls. He grabs her by the shoulder before she can step onto the mushi’s tail. “Step just a little this way.” He indicates. Hiromi adjusts and steps around the mushi. The second rock takes less time than the first. When she dusts the rock powder from her fingers, the mushi tail gives a mighty jerk and comes free. 

There’s a great gust of wind as the creature lunges forwards. The trees thrash in response, dry dead leaves falling to the ground with the first drops of gusted rain falling below them. Ginko watches the giant ray mushi until the faint blue of its tail is lost in the gray clouds over the sea. 

They walk slowly on their way back to Hiromi’s house; Ginko manages mostly not to limp and Hiromi is thoroughly distracted, stopping every so often to turn her face up into the rain.  
“You should come with me to bring the news to the villagers,” Ginko suggests when they reach her house.  
“I don’t think I can return to the village,” Hiromi protests.  
“I wasn’t the one who solved their problem. I won’t take thanks for another person’s work,” Ginko says calmly.

Hiromi shuffles her feet uncertainly, staring past Ginko down the path to the village. She squares her shoulders. “Alright.”

The village is in joyful chaos when they reach it. No one is inside or working from the looks of it. Even the merchants are there, staring up in wonder next to their hastily covered cart. How quickly rain can become a miracle, Ginko muses. But the villagers go quiet when they see Hiromi walking with Ginko into the village. 

“So it was a curse!” Kei shouts, pointing a menacing finger. 

“No,” Ginko objects, raising his voice firmly to be heard over the wash of murmurs that have erupted at their arrival. “She was the cure. Hiromi here helped me get rid of the mushi that was keeping the rain off your town. I couldn't have done it without her.” Ginko looks around. Most of the villagers drop his gaze but Kei holds it, the set of her chin still angry. “This town cannot survive without the rain, but neither can Hiromi, neither could her sister. Their actions are not to blame for the drought, but they suffered more than any of you, both at your hands, and at the lack of rain. And in the end, it is her work that has given you the rain back.”

“You helped, Ginko.” Hiromi protests, glancing nervously around. Her shoulders are hunched and she drifts closer to his side, as if to perhaps hide behind him. Ginko puts a firm hand on her shoulder. He hears the collective sharp inhale at the act.

“I couldn’t have done it without you,” Ginko says. 

“Was it a mushi?” Hisao asks.

“It was, a mushi so large it covered the sky over the village and kept any rain from falling anywhere near here. I would not have been able to free it on my own. Hiromi helped me release it, she was able to do what I could not and now there’s rain again.”

“So, you saved us?” Sero asks, stepping forward. “Even after Miki?”

“We all need the rain, Sero.” Hiromi sounds deeply sad where once she might have been angry. “Miki and me too, we can’t survive without the rain.”

“And to tell the truth, I don’t think the village would have survived without you,” Ginko says pointedly, looking around at the villagers who seem unconvinced.

“Hmph,” Kei crosses her arms as she turns from the street. “I at least have work to do, now that the rain is back.” She starts to walk away but she stops a moment without turning around, “I’m sorry about your sister. I see I was wrong about how things were. But you’re still not allowed around the cloth! Not after what you and your sister were like as children.” Her words are gruff but they make something sad and hopeful steal across Hiromi’s face.

“Thank you, Obachan.” 

Later, over a meal with the merchants, Sero, and Hiromi, Ginko helps recount the story of freeing the mushi. Hiromi makes it sound much more exciting than it was and attributes greater precision to Ginko’s search and skills than perhaps is correct in this case, but he affably fills in descriptions of the mushi, and the role that the mushi of Hiromi’s family played in the story.

“You have a mushi?” Hisao asks with excitement, leaning forward towards Hiromi. She squirms a bit under his fascinated gaze, but nods.

“Members of my family have been like this for generations.”

“It’s a mushi that passes in the blood, so mothers will give it to their children. It’s only a little when they’re small but will grow with them,” Ginko contributes. “It’s rare to have mushi that run in families like this. Mostly because the mushi are too hard on the body. Here, there’s enough rain, so like the moss, you’re made for this place to be your home.”

“And we make something no one else can with the moss!” Hiromi puts in proudly. The merchants give her their full attention, ready to fill their cart with new product.

Ginko hasn’t had much chance to rest his feet, but the restless itch to his skin and the mushi gathering in the water droplets along the bowed heads of dry grass tell him it’s a good time to move on. He does stay long enough to join the merchants in watching a demonstration of the craftsmanship of Hiromi’s family. She uses his boots for her demonstration, carefully analyzing the shape and then creating a form out of thick clay. When the form is ready she lightly runs an ungloved hand over it, rendering it stiff and dry. The first actions are familiar as she soaks the moss in the same saltwater solution, agitating it in the tub with gloved hands. Once it’s thoroughly sodden, she removes her gloves, quickly plunging her hands into the water and retrieving the moss. She uses the same stretching motions as the cloth makers but it grows thicker and darker in her hands. Once it’s begun to shade into the same rich brown of her gloves she begins to shape it over the clay form. The process is quick, even faster than the speed at which the cloth knit. She cajoles and yanks and twists and a few minutes later a new shoe is waiting. Ginko sits through a repeat of the process to create a second boot.

“Because I can’t make the sole the same as what you have,” she explains. “But this way each shoe is the same thickness. They are still thickest on the bottom, but more flexible than what you had.”

Ginko takes the new boots. They’re beautiful, supple on the sides but clearly durable. They’re seamless around the leg, but with loops for string to be laced through to tighten them. Given the water-repelling property of her gloves, Ginko is pleased to think how well these might stand up to muddy traveling. Each boot fits neatly. The merchants applaud.

“And how many of these can you make?” Koharu asks, “I’d like some for myself, but we’ll take as many as we can when we leave.”

Hiromi shrugs, “As many as I have the materials for, which isn’t very much right now. But I can do a few different sizes. Someone left a full basket of moss at my door this morning.” Hiromi smiles slightly, “I think it might have been Kei.”

Ginko leaves while the merchants are discussing what kinds of shoes Hiromi can make. 

The sky is grey and the patter of rain on the leaves shushes around him. Ginko loops his scarf over his head to keep a bit dryer and hefts his pack. The merchant road continues out of the village and back into the greener areas where rain never stopped falling. Ginko walks a little out of his way to step in every puddle as he goes. His feet are dry and warm.


End file.
